


Opium Dreams

by VelveteenThestral



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Drugs, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1862142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelveteenThestral/pseuds/VelveteenThestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor is embarrassed by Vanessa's announcement that he's a virgin. Dorian Gray has a remedy for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opium Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [dreadful_kinks](http://dreadful-kinks.dreamwidth.org/) kinkmeme prompt, [Dorian/Victor, morphine!sex, (dubcon/noncon)](http://dreadful-kinks.dreamwidth.org/969.html?thread=11721#cmt11721): Dorian deflowers Victor while he's high out of his mind.
> 
> To my eyes, Dorian's got a major consent kink, so the dubious consent stems only from the fact that Victor is, in fact, high out of his mind; he's the one to initiate, and Dorian points out the difficulty and gets explicit consent in several places. In other words - it's pretty damn fluffy.

Dorian Gray sat in his portrait-hung drawing room, curtains pulled back so he could watch the snow outside. Bach's Goldberg Variations played on the gramophone; opera was very well for inspiring passion, but sometimes it was more important to be soothed than roused, and the Goldberg Variations did very well for that; after all, they'd been written to help Bach's insomniac patron sleep.

His reverie was interrupted by a footman proffering a card on a silver salver. "A Doctor Victor Frankenstein is asking for you, sir. He says you don't know him, but hopes you'll see him anyway. Shall I tell him you're not at home?"

"You know me better than that, Charles," Dorian said. "An unknown quantity? Show him in, please."

The young man who entered might have been very attractive, with his milky-pale skin and arresting blue eyes, had those eyes not been swollen and red-rimmed with weariness and haunted with pain, and had he not been shivering and twitching. He was gripping a satchel, his knuckles white. _It must be very important to him if he wouldn't let Charles take it_ , Dorian thought. He rose to greet him. "Doctor Frankenstein. I'm delighted to meet you. Won't you sit down?"

The doctor perched on the edge of a leather armchair, still shivering, though the room was warmed by a well-stoked fire in the grate. "Thank you for seeing me." The politeness sounded forced. Dorian was intrigued. What was the cause of this young man's pain?

"Not at all," he said. "Would you care for something to drink? Perhaps mulled wine, or hot punch - I know it's old-fashioned, but you seem to have taken a chill."

Dr. Frankenstein shook his head. "I never touch alcohol."

"Some tea, then," Dorian suggested.

"Thank you."

Dorian rang the bell, and, when the servant arrived, asked for tea. "And some of the fruitcake, I think - no, that's soaked in rum, it had better be something else. I leave it to Cook's discretion." The servant nodded and went away.

"What brings you here, Doctor?" Dorian asked, when it was clear that the young man wasn't going to volunteer anything.

"It concerns Miss Vanessa Ives," Frankenstein said.

"Ah. How is she?" Dorian asked. "Our evening together ended rather awkwardly, and she's not been at home to me since then. Nor did she answer my note. I hate to think she's angry at me, but that would be better than if she were unwell."

"Unwell." Frankenstein's laugh was bitter. "I suppose you could call it that."

"I'm sorry to hear it," Dorian said. "Not dangerously so, I hope?"

"That depends on what you consider dangerous," Frankenstein said. "And to whom."

"I'm not concerned for myself," Dorian said. "I never get ill." 

Frankenstein shook his head. "It's not an infection. She's...very much not herself. I had thought...well. I'm told that you were the last person she spent time with before this change in her condition. Is there anything you could tell me that might have some bearing on it?"

"As I don't know the details of her condition, I don't know how to answer that," Dorian said. "What do you hope I can tell you?"

The doctor's face set in a truculent expression. "To be perfectly honest, Mr. Gray, she has been suffering from attacks of acute hysteria, with all signs pointing to an origin in some sort of psychosexual trauma, and her derangement resulting from the subsequent guilt and shame. She has, during her periods of greatest distress, made a number of lurid comments and accusations of everyone surrounding her. Sir Malcolm Murray, who, as I understand it, has been standing in place of a father to her for some time now, and has known her since her girlhood, was unable to provide me with any details of her sexual history. In short, I would very much like to know if she was ill-treated at your hands."

Dorian frowned. "You're not lacking in audacity, Doctor, to come to my house and make such a suggestion to me. I might even call it an accusation. I'm not in the habit of divulging the details of my private life, especially when another's reputation might be harmed by it. However, if Miss Ives is so afflicted, I share your concern for her, so I will be equally honest. We were intimate, by our mutual consent, until she evinced some distress and left with no further word. I was very much puzzled by it myself, and hoped that I could learn what caused her distress and make whatever amends she required. If there's trauma at the root of her disturbance, it happened before I met her." 

"I was afraid of that," Frankenstein said.

Any further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a parlourmaid with a tea trolley, bearing an elegant Georgian silver service, porcelain cups and saucers, and a tray of iced cakes. Dorian dismissed her with a nod of his head, and poured the tea, quirking his mouth when the doctor requested four lumps of sugar. He offered him the cakes. "Do take as many as you'd like." Frankenstein immediately put three on his plate, and made the first one vanish in two bites.  
"It seems to me that _you're_ not well, Doctor," Dorian suggested. "Shivering, craving sugar...I know the signs of opiate withdrawal when I see them. Are you trying to break a dependence, or are you simply lacking another dose?"

Frankenstein stiffened. "Neither," he said. "I merely thought it inadvisable to address such a delicate subject while under any intoxicating influence."

"You've addressed it," Dorian said. "For whatever help it's been. May I suggest you address _your_ needs now? Watching you twitch and shake is hardly an edifying spectacle."

Frankenstein glared at Dorian, but set down his teacup and dug in his bag, bringing out a syringe and a vial. He made no apology as he rolled up his sleeve and tightened a leather strap around his arm. Dorian watched, impassively.

"That's better," he said, when the doctor had put his equipment away. "Let me pour you another cup of tea. If you don't mind my asking," Dorian continued, "did any of Miss Ives' lurid accusations involve me?"

"They did," Frankenstein said, tilting his head back. "Though not of any behavior concerning her. She suggested you'd 'been intimate', as you put it -" his voice was mocking - "with our acquaintance Mr. Chandler."

Dorian raised his eyebrows. "Whatever else she may be, she's perceptive. I hadn't spoken of that to anyone, and I wouldn't have expected Mr. Chandler to have done so, either." He smiled disarmingly, though it was wasted on Dr. Frankenstein, who'd closed his eyes. "I only confirm it in the hope that knowing how much of what she's said is true and how much mere delusion will help you to make her well again. I really am concerned for her. I like her very much."

"I like her too, when she's lucid," Frankenstein said. "The trouble is that she can slip so quickly from lucidity into one of her episodes. One moment, she's thanking me for my care of her, and the next, she's staring like a snake about to strike and telling everyone within earshot that I'm a virgin."

Dorian's smile grew feral. "And are you?"

Frankenstein snorted. "You said it yourself: she's perceptive. Not that I can see why it should matter."

"And you said it yourself: her attacks are caused by something of a sexual nature. It's hardly surprising that she makes sexual comments about anyone around her during them." Dorian looked directly at Frankenstein, focusing all his attention on the young man. "Does it matter to you?"

Frankenstein stared back for a moment, then dropped his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe."

Dorian chuckled. "In my experience, that usually means 'yes'. Were you planning to do anything about it?"

"Like what?"

"I should think that would be obvious. It's hardly difficult to hire a whore."

The doctor shuddered. "No thank you, Mr. Gray. Syphilis, gonorrhea, half a dozen other diseases - as a medical man, I know the risks I'd be taking."

"There are preventative measures a man can take," Dorian pointed out. "Surely, as a medical man, you're aware of prophylactics. And I think if we're to continue this discussion, you might as well call me Dorian."

"Victor," the doctor said automatically. "Yes, I'm aware of them. The idea holds no appeal for me. Prophylactics or prostitutes. I'm afraid that my love of poetry has left me with unrealistic expectations." He finished his tea, setting the cup down in the saucer with a loud click. "And, even if I were to seek out the services of a prostitute, I wouldn't hire a woman."

Dorian narrowed his eyes. "I see. I begin to wonder if your motives in visiting me were quite as high-minded as you led me to believe, Doctor."

"Victor," Frankenstein repeated, irritably. "Are you suggesting I came here intending to seduce you?"

Dorian laughed. "My dear Victor, I don't think you're capable of seducing so much as a bolster. But you might have been hoping I would seduce _you_. If what Vanessa had said about Ethan proved to be true." He deliberately used his most recent lovers' Christian names, abandoning the polite fiction of formality, wondering if Victor would notice.

Victor looked away. "And if I had?"

Dorian leaned over and took Victor's hand. "Then I might suggest that storming in and accusing me of assaulting a lady is not the best way to go about it."

"What would be the best way?"

Dorian schooled his face to careful neutrality. "You could try asking."

Victor took a deep breath. "Dorian Gray, would you take me to bed and relieve me of my virginity?"

Dorian's face lit with a smile of startlingly innocent delight. "It would be a pleasure," he said. "But I think there are a few matters we ought to discuss first."

"Like _what_?" Victor's impatience was palpable.

"First of all, there's the matter of the morphine. I wouldn't want us to do anything that you'd regret after the intoxication wore off."

Victor made a harsh noise that might have been intended for a laugh. "My addiction is such that I'm in better possession of my faculties with the morphine than without. You remarked upon it yourself. I assure you, I'm entirely competent to decide what I wish to do with my own body." He looked into Dorian's eyes, his directness the opposite of coquetry, but somehow provoking Dorian to a similar arousal. "Or with yours."

Now it was Dorian who had to lower his eyes to keep his composure. There was an intensity in Victor's ice-blue gaze that was as disturbing as it was arousing. This might prove to be a very interesting evening after all. "I'll take your word for it," he said. "There remains the question of what, exactly, you consider sufficient to render you no longer a virgin."

"I-" Victor hesitated.

"It's not entirely simple, is it?" Dorian said, not unkindly. "With a woman, it's simple; you fuck her, and that's that. But with another man...is it merely the act of reaching climax? Do mouths count, but not hands? Or will it not be real to you until you've fucked me, or been fucked?" He spread his hands. "I will be guided completely by your wishes in this. Only tell me what they are."

Another unnerving, direct stare. "I want to fuck you."

Dorian rose, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Then let's go upstairs. There's no need to complicate your first time with worrying about whether you're going to fall off the sofa." 

Victor stood, and followed Dorian up the stairs.

It was odd, Dorian reflected, as he and Victor entered his bedroom. There was no romance about this, and very little seduction; it almost had the feeling of a commercial transaction, but with himself in the role of the whore. Well, he'd volunteered for it. He looked over to where Victor was undressing, and had to stifle a laugh. "A Jaeger suit? Really?"

Victor looked cross. "Wearing wool next to the skin is healthful." He glanced pointedly at Dorian's underdrawers. "Unlike silk, which chills the skin."

"You might as well wear a hair shirt," Dorian said. "And I'm not the least bit chilled. Come and see." He held out his arms.

Victor shuffled awkwardly out of his trousers, which had fallen around his ankles, and stepped into Dorian's embrace, still wearing the maligned garment. Dorian pulled him close, ignoring the scratchiness, and lowered his head to brush Victor's lips in a soft, undemanding kiss. He met with neither resistance nor reaction, so he tried another one, a little firmer this time. Victor breathed in deeply, and he closed his eyes, his lips parting. _He's never_ kissed _anyone before_ , Dorian realized. He brought his hand to the side of Victor's face, tracing his thumb over Victor's cheekbone in a gentle caress, alternating brief kisses with nibbling at Victor's lips and then, finally, as Victor's mouth began to respond with movements of its own, a delicate flick with the tip of his tongue.

Victor gasped, and Dorian felt his cock twitch under the layer of knitted wool. He stroked Victor's cheek, smoothing his hair back away from it. "Shh," he murmured. "It's nice, isn't it?" He lowered his other hand to the small of Victor's back and drew him closer. Victor tipped his head back, his eyes unfocused and dreamy. Dorian looked closer. Pupils down to pinpoints, but no, the doctor wasn't a _bit_ affected by the morphine coursing through his veins, or at least Dorian was sure he would swear that if you had the nerve to ask. Dorian was no stranger to narcotics, though he'd rarely indulged now for some years. He wished, briefly, that he were introducing Victor to the pleasures of the body without opiates' rather _insulating_ effects, but he would do the best with things as they were. He bent his head again and kissed Victor's open mouth, sucking gently, letting Victor's tongue drift against his. Victor moaned at that, a quiet sound but one that sent a thrill along Dorian's spine; _yes, Doctor, there are mysteries of the body you're just beginning to learn_. Victor's hands settled lightly on Dorian's hips, and, still kissing, Dorian shifted his hands to the buttons of Victor's union suit.

Victor disengaged his hands long enough to allow Dorian to slide the garment off his arms, then leaned in closer, wrapping himself around Dorian, narrow chest pressed to narrow chest, milk-pale skin against Dorian's honey-gold. Dorian rubbed his cheek against Victor's, faintest rasp of bristles against the smoothness beneath, and ran his hands down Victor's sides, slipping them under the material still clinging to Victor's hips. "May I?"

"Oh - uh -"

Dorian smiled at Victor's confusion, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He tugged the fabric down by a fraction of an inch. "These," he said. "May I take them off?"

Victor kissed Dorian's lips, clumsily, but with unmistakable intent. "Please do."

Dorian knelt, smoothing the fabric down Victor's legs, gently lifting each foot to slide them out of the cuffs. He resisted the temptation to nuzzle Victor's half-hard cock; they had all the time in the world, and Dorian didn't plan to rush. It could wait. He unbuttoned his own drawers, letting them fall to his feet as he stood again, kicking them to one side. "Come to bed," he coaxed.

Victor allowed himself to be led to Dorian's wide bed with its smooth linen sheets and its soft eiderdown spread over the blankets. Dorian settled him, running his palms over Victor's skin in long, slow strokes, watching appreciatively as Victor hardened at the touch. He lay down beside him, nestling close, bringing his hands to Victor's face again to draw him in for more kisses.

Victor was learning the knack of it, finding a rhythm, taking brief pauses for air only to return to Dorian's mouth with renewed fervor. His body echoed it, his spine arching and relaxing as he pulled Dorian's body half atop his. Dorian moved easily against him, letting Victor set the pace, taking in every shift and squirm with greedy intensity, aroused beyond words at the knowledge that everything Victor experienced was new. He let his hand drift now, away from Victor's side, the same slow strokes now moving from collarbone to chest to belly, down and back up, a little lower each time until he brushed a flat palm over Victor's cock.

No gasp this time, just a louder moan, and Dorian shivered happily at the sound of it. He curled his fingers around Victor's shaft, running a thumb lightly over the tip of him. "Keep going?" he asked.

"Yes. Please," Victor said.

"Open your eyes and look at me," Dorian murmured, quietly, but unmistakably an order. Victor's eyes fluttered open as Dorian began to stroke him. Dorian watched him intently, seeing the pleasure build in Victor's eyes, listening to his breath come in shallow gasps. He was achingly hard, every inch of his skin tingling, just from the sight of Victor's discovery. He stopped before long; Dorian didn't want to finish Victor off before he'd given him what he'd promised. He smiled as Victor arched his hips, whimpering, seeking his hand. "Still want to fuck me?"

Victor's immediate pout nearly made Dorian laugh. His voice was cross even through the hoarseness of desire. "Did you really think I'd say no?"

"Not at all," Dorian said. "It was more a question of timing."

" _Now_ would be acceptable." 

Dorian didn't bother to suppress his chuckle. "As I said before, I am guided entirely by your wishes. Give me a moment." He rose from the bed, and went to his shaving-stand, taking up a wide-mouthed jar. There was the pot of salve in his nightstand, but he didn't want to use that; its heavy, resinous fragrance was entirely wrong for this acerbic, determined boy. The sharp herbal-menthol scent of the cream he used on his new-shaved skin suited Victor much better. And there was another, less whimsical reason; Victor was unlikely to last very long in his inexperience, and Dorian wanted the sting of the menthol to make up in intensity of feeling for what he wouldn't get from Victor in duration. He brought the jar back to the bed and lay down again.

"How...I mean, what's the easiest way..." Victor trailed off, at a loss to express himself.

Dorian bent his knees, spreading his legs apart. "Like this," he said. "There are other positions, but I want to be able to look at you." Victor nodded, swallowing nervously. Dorian took the top off the jar of cream and dipped his fingers in. "I'll get myself ready. Unless you'd like to?"

Victor shook his head. "No. Show me."

Dorian grinned, and set about the task, making a lewd display of it, biting his lip and arching his neck as he spread his arse wide with one hand and slid his fingers in and out, making sure he was thoroughly anointed with the cream. He looked at Victor from under flirtatiously lowered eyelids, and noticed with some amusement that Victor's expression spoke more of scientific observation than uncontrolled desire. _I'll change that_ , he promised himself.

"Now you." Dorian took more cream from the jar, with the hand he _hadn't_ been using on himself, thank you, and in one quick motion smoothed it over Victor's cock. A swift intake of breath, let out in a groan, and _there_ was the desire on Victor's face, the cool observation entirely gone. Dorian reached up and grasped Victor's shoulders, pulling him down. "Here, like this...but kiss me first." The scientist was an apt pupil; this kiss was everything Dorian could have wished for, slow and insistent, unhurried but utterly demanding. Dorian reached down for Victor's cock. "Go slowly. I'll guide you...go in until you feel some resistance, then wait."

Victor nodded. "Of course. The actions of the _sphincter ani internus_ …" Dorian laughed at that, and placed a finger against Victor's lips.

"Please, no anatomy lectures, Doctor," he said. "I'm doing the teaching at the moment." Dorian gave Victor's cock a gentle squeeze, and guided it carefully inside him.

Victor's face had gone nearly blank with wonder. Dorian trailed a finger down his spine. "Well?" He smiled at Victor's silence. "That's right. Don't try to describe. Just _feel_." Dorian was feeling any number of delightful sensations: the familiar stretch of his body around a cock heightened by the cool burn of the menthol, Victor's smooth skin under his hands, and then, inevitably, the muscles relaxing, adjusting to the intrusion and craving more of it. He pressed his hand gently against Victor's arse. "There. Feel that? Deeper now."

Victor slid into him, pressing close, and leaned down for another kiss. Dorian welcomed it hungrily, kissing back until his breath was gone. He brought his lips next to Victor's ear. "You can move now."  
And Victor did, slowly and deliberately, with more control than Dorian would have believed possible from a virgin; an exquisite slide, withdrawing nearly his entire length before thrusting inward again. Dorian arched and purred, glowing with pleasure. He reached down and wrapped one hand around his cock, not stroking just yet, but wanting the counter-pressure of his own touch, ready to match the pace when Victor would inevitably speed up.

Except Victor didn't; he kept gliding back and forth with those long strokes, his breathing steady, his eyes fixed with inward concentration. Dorian breathed with him, enjoying the sensuality of it, but it was definitely odd, and not the response he'd expected. "You can go faster if you'd like," he encouraged.

Victor sped up the tempo of his hips, and Dorian rocked with him, letting out quiet, absolutely necessary moans, but even as Victor's thrusts grew harder, his breathing stayed even, and he made no sounds of his own. The menthol burn was getting stronger, and Dorian wondered how Victor could possibly be managing to last, until he looked up into Victor's face and saw the pupils of his ice-blue eyes, not dilated with expected lust, but still in their morphine-induced pinpoints. _I'd forgotten that effect. Foolish of me_. "Victor," he murmured. "Do you think you're near a climax?"

Victor paused, and Dorian bit back a frustrated whimper. "No," he answered, after a considering moment.

"Do you think you will reach one, if we keep on like this?"

An experimental thrust or two, and another pause. "Probably not."

"Would you like to?"

A derisive snort. "That _is_ rather the point of the exercise, isn't it?"

Dorian grinned. He could grow to enjoy Victor's sarcasm, he thought. It was refreshingly free of pretense or sentiment. "Would you like to change places, then? I think the extra stimulation might do the trick." Pun very much intended, though Victor wasn't likely to spot it.

Another kiss, this one thoughtful; Dorian could almost hear wheels turning inside Victor's head. "I support your theory, and I believe we should test this hypothesis." A short, decisive kiss for punctuation.

Dorian ruffled Victor's hair, delighted by the rush of affection he felt at the doctor's absurdly detached wording. "Get on your hands and knees, then. It's not as intimate, but the angle's easier, and I'll be able to do more for you, more easily."

Victor did as he was told, and looked back over his shoulder to where Dorian knelt behind him. "More?"

"Like this," Dorian said impishly, reaching around to grasp Victor's cock, pleased at the resulting moan. He reached for the jar of cream, and hesitated; yes, he ought to prepare Victor, but with the morphine he'd taken, there was very little he'd feel as pain, and the idea of the first thing ever to penetrate him being Dorian's cock was irresistibly arousing. Dorian spread himself generously with the cream, and nudged himself against Victor's entrance, gently stroking his cock as he did. "I know this sounds illogical, but don't try to relax to take me in; bear down. It'll open you up to me."

"It's perfectly logical-" Victor protested, and then broke off into the most glorious, abandoned groan that Dorian could ever have hoped for.

"No more talking," Dorian said. "Unless you need to tell me to stop. You can do that any time you need to, and I will."

"Don't even _think_ about stopping," Victor said raggedly. "More."

And Victor's body was ready for more, indeed, softening and opening to Dorian, tightening around him as he slid deeper, hot and responsive and enticing. Dorian didn't bother with the slow buildup that he would have used in other circumstances, with any other beginner; Victor needed the sharpest sensations he could get, hard thrusting and fast, rough pulling at his cock and the sharp burn of the menthol on his sensitive insides, just to get through the haze of the opiates and bring him to completion. Dorian felt the hard little nub inside Victor with the tip of his cock, and angled his hips so that every thrust hit it, again and again, and now, finally, Victor's moans were coming faster and higher, and it was all Dorian could do to hold back his own climax until Victor spent in hot bursts all over the sheets and his gripping hand.

When Dorian's vision cleared, he bent down and placed a kiss on the nape of Victor's neck before he withdrew. He hugged him from behind. "There." His voice held notes of both affection and smugness. Victor just groaned, and Dorian hugged him tighter. "I think we can reasonably say that you aren't a virgin anymore."

Victor wriggled, and Dorian let go. Victor slumped to the mattress, then turned over to look up at Dorian. "I'd say that's correct." He took in a breath, and his expression softened. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Dorian said. "As well as yours. I hope."

Victor snorted. "Don't be an idiot. I don't think it could have been more obvious."

Dorian stroked his face. "I'm glad." He sighed. "I'd better get you cleaned up. The menthol in the cream-"

"I thought it must have been," Victor interrupted. "Fascinating effect."

Dorian laughed. "I'm glad you liked it. But, as I was saying, the menthol in the cream may have been enjoyable in the moment, but it won't do you any good to leave it on you- or in you- the rest of the night. Let me get a towel." He went over to the wash-stand, and brought back not only a soft Turkish face-towel, but the jug and basin, a cake of soap, and a flannel as well. Carefully, thoroughly, he cleaned the residue of the cream (and other things, better left unmentioned) from Victor's body, within and without, drying him tenderly afterwards. He gave himself a more cursory wash; he at least wouldn't take any lasting harm, but it was pleasant to be clean nonetheless. Setting the things on the floor by the bed, he curled up against Victor's side. 

Victor nestled against him. "I'm sorry I accused you, earlier."

"I'm not." Dorian kissed Victor's cheek. "If you hadn't, you might not have come here at all, and then this wouldn't have happened. And I, for one, am very glad it did."

Victor tucked his head into the crook of Dorian's neck. "So am I."

"Will you stay the night?" Dorian kept his voice light, not wanting to let on how much he wanted the company, not wanting to pressure Victor into making an answer out of politeness, not that Victor seemed to make politeness a consideration of his, but still.

"May I?" 

Oh, the surprise in Victor's voice! So plainly the innocent who knew nothing of the etiquette of dalliance, of the customs and manners of casual _affaires_. Dorian squeezed him. "I'd like it very much."

"So would I," Victor said simply.

"Then you may. Get some rest. We'll have breakfast in the morning. In bed, if you like."

Victor stiffened. "But your servants-?"

Dorian laughed softly. "I know. But they're used to my scandalous ways. I assure you, they've seen things far more shocking, and I pay them handsomely, enough for them not to talk."

"Must be nice," Victor muttered, settling into the blankets. Dorian stroked him lazily, watching him as he fell asleep.


End file.
